Sips is at the end of his career. A minor injury turned major after he overworked himself, and it’s left him bitter. His final game, he sits out on the bench, injured, and watches his team lose.
That day, fans ask for autographs, as always. He doesn’t think his will be worth anything sicne his career is being cut short at 22. And at the end of the night, he stares up at the stadium lights for a long time, wistfully longing for what used to be.

Smith idolized baseball players since he was young. He was devastated when his favorite player, Sips, suffered a career-ruining injury. His dad had taken him to meet Sips the last day of his career- the only game he’d ever been able to make- to get his baseball signed.
“-you’re one of the best baseball players, and I want to be just like you when I grow up-” he babbled as Sips nodded along, probably only pretending to listen just to sate him “and I have your posters all over my bedroom wall, and-”
His dad had politely cut him off to remind him of his manners, and Smith thanked him for his time and said he was really sorry he wouldn’t be playing anymore.
Sips gave him a small smile and said something vaguely encouraging.
As years went on, Smith kept dreaming, kept wondering what Sips was doing, kept playing baseball and wanting to play professionally. He grew older, and gained some sense that Sips was probably retired and had moved on with his life.
But it took Smith a long time to take down the posters. Took him after he’d started really thinking about his sexuality, that he didn’t just want to be like Sips.
And when he got old enough, he was drafted onto Sips’ old baseball team.

The team hadn’t done well in years- people said it was cursed. Smith was one of the youngest, but he wasn’t the newest player to join the team. Year after year, they were traded owners, coaches, and starting players.
And finally, a few years after Smith had been playing for the team, a former player decided to take a stab at coaching.

Sips had grown as much as Smith had, in all those years. He lost his bitterness, and though he’d never play baseball again, he couldn’t walk away from all he’d left behind. So he started learning. Studying. Training.

Smith had slightly forgotten about the young man he’d idolized as a kid. And his own age now- older than Sips was when he quit- gives him a bigger realization on just how much of a rift there should be between them generation-wise.
But Smith’s schoolboy crush-idol turns into a full-blown sexual fantasy. When the man who trains you is also a man you’d do anything to get the favor of (sexual and otherwise), walking a thin line between personal life and sports life is difficult.